After
by Tremaile
Summary: An encounter in Tel'aran'rhiod, with an unlikely outcome. (Heavy AMoL spoilers, click at own risk.) TW for suicidal thoughts.


**A/N:** I couldn't put much detail in the summary because I try to be mindful of people who haven't yet finished the series and Egwene's death is probably the biggest spoiler in the history of ever. This was originally written as a response to a prompt; "Moridin/Egwene, in Tel'aran'rhiod" but I scrapped the shippy aspect from the get-go (I'm great at honouring prompts like that *rolls eyes*) and the rest just happened. This is kind of headcanon-heavy; the possibility of Egwene being Latra Posae reborn has never been addressed by the authors, as far as I'm aware, and I can't remember seeing anything definitive about the current-Age characters possibly ending up as Heroes of the Horn, either, but I think both are plausible. (This scenario, however, not so, but we're just going to roll with it, mkay.)

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><p>The hardest part of dying was finding himself… not dead. He supposed his physical form had perished, but that was small comfort when he woke up in <em>Tel'aran'rhiod<em>, still aware, still existing. He hadn't actively contemplated suicide in over three thousand years — the Great Lord had promised him an end and that had been good enough — but now that the world had evidently not ended and he was faced with the prospect of existing for all of eternity… The idea was more than tempting.

How did one kill himself in the Unseen World? It should have been easy in a place where will and imagination could affect reality, but suddenly he was at a loss. He could do anything here, his mastery of the World of Dreams was unrivalled, but all of the methods he could think of required too much effort. Why was it not enough to simply wish to stop existing?

Wrapped in his thoughts, he did not notice that he was no longer alone until the newcomer spoke. "I thought I'd find you here."

Too weary to be startled, he raised his head to look at the one who had spoken. A young woman, short and pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes, stood watching him from a respectful distance. She was no ordinary sleeper dreaming herself into _Tel'aran'rhiod_ by accident; he could feel her will asserting itself over the surroundings, as strong as his own and steadier, calmer. The wisdom in her eyes, the surprisingly gentle force of her presence belied her apparent youth.

"You used to have more control than that, Elan," she went on, not reprimanding or mocking but almost… concerned. "The entire World of Dreams echoes with your pain."

Elan wrapped his arms about himself, shivering. "You know who I am," he said, unable to summon the energy to make it sound like a question. He recognised her, now, the child Amyrlin who had died fighting the Last Battle. Egwene, her name had been. Egwene al'Vere.

She nodded. "Before I died I knew you as one of the Forsaken," she said. "But now, I also remember who you were… Elan Morin." She spoke his name with a soft emphasis. Then she tilted her head thoughtfully. "It's funny. Birgitte says we really remember only the most significant ones of our lives, only from the past Age or so, because you can't very well remember your every life ever, but right now I feel like I remember so much."

Elan stared numbly at her; she was the child Amyrlin, the innkeeper's daughter from a backwater village who had been drawn out into the world and into history by pure blind chance… And yet she was also so much more. It took him a while to realise that he recognised another aspect of her, as well. "…Latra Posae?"

The woman arched an eyebrow and although her features didn't change, for a moment she was every bit the Aes Sedai who had rallied her sisters during the War of Power to oppose Lews Therin's plan to strike at Shayl Ghul. Then she shook her head. "Just Egwene. Please." She smiled, a touch wryly. "I remember being Latra Posae, but it was Egwene al'Vere who seems to have earned a place among the Heroes of the Horn."

"Heroes of the…" He trailed off and something like hope tried to raise its head at the back of his mind. "Have you come to kill me? Please, I… I can't…" He bowed his head and closed his eyes; he couldn't bear the sympathy with which she regarded him.

"No," she said simply.

The beginning of hope died again. Elan's legs folded and he sank to his knees. "Why?" he whispered. "Why can't it be over?"

He could hear the sound of footsteps as she came closer. "Sometimes," she began, "something goes terribly wrong. Sometimes someone who should have been a hero ends up the villain instead. Sometimes people don't know how to help the ones they love. Sometimes those who were lucky enough to make it to the end as the heroes they were born to be, recognise their past mistakes and want to make things right. And, sometimes…" An amused, almost mischievous note entered her voice. "Sometimes Heroes of the Horn take apprentices."

A dozen variations of _'What do you mean?'_ went through Elan's head but he couldn't voice any of them. "They… do?" he finally asked.

"They do now," she replied with such reassurance that Elan almost — _almost_ — wanted to believe her. She smoothed his hair back from his face; Elan couldn't remember that he had ever been touched with such gentleness. "You don't have to be alone, Elan."

He wasn't sure when he had started to cry. All of a sudden he just became aware of the tears running down his cheeks, of Egwene — it was impossible to think of her as Latra Posae — holding him, cradling his head against her stomach and stroking his hair soothingly. He wept until he had no more tears left, as though it could wash him clean of the death and destruction he had left in his wake throughout his centuries of life, and when he was done, Egwene was still there with an air of infinite patience and compassion. She knew what he was, she knew what he had been, and yet she seemed to believe he could be worth saving. The thought was humbling and frightening, but he was too drained and exhausted to properly feel either.

As if she had read his mind, Egwene spoke again. "You don't have to do this alone," she repeated. "That's the good thing about second chances. We can _all_ do better." Making no move to hurry him, she went on, "Whenever you think you're ready, we should get back to the others."

Elan raised his head and wiped at his face with a shaking hand; Egwene took a step back to give him space. "Others?" he repeated, his voice thick from crying. Mainly to buy time; he did realise whom she meant. The rest of the Heroes. It was absurd; he had no business in such a company.

Egwene nodded. "They'll want to meet you." She held out her hand. "It turns out Rand — well, Lews Therin, as he used to be called; he'll want to be called Rand now, I think — Rand has told them a lot about you. You and—" She trailed off with a grimace, but Elan could finish the sentence in his mind. No second chances for everyone. Perhaps it was just as well; Elan didn't believe Barid could have made the journey back from Demandred in this lifetime. A clean death and rebirth with no strings attached were probably better for him.

He nodded slowly and stood up. He still wasn't sure how he felt about meeting the Heroes of the Horn, but the prospect didn't seem anywhere near as daunting as it should have.

As though reading his mind again, Egwene smiled up at him. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll take care of you." She took his hand and he let her lead him to a new life.


End file.
